


What Newspapers Say: An Origins Tail

by peculiar_noir



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ladybug - Freeform, ML, chat noir - Freeform, kwami - Freeform, origins au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_noir/pseuds/peculiar_noir
Summary: Newspapers can be biased in any situation lacking all the facts. This truth perseveres when peculiar figures start appearing across the European map. That's why Adrien Agreste has taken it upon himself to get to the bottom of it, even if it's only for fun. But a harmless hobby can turn life changing. And the outcome may not be what Adrien signed up for. Origins AU.





	1. Stalled

-London

-Prague

-Milan

-Amsterdam

Adrien tapped the end of his pencil on his bottom lip. He stared at the small list he scrawled on a scratch sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper, too distracted to pay adequate attention in the middle of class. Note taking was the duty of the hour, and in a sense he was taking notes. Notes of where these mysterious figures kept popping up all across Europe.

So far, the security cameras on street corners and at the pinnacle of rooftops were only able to capture glimpses. Hazy humanoid shadows. Pixilated indications o something big and interesting. Something regular everyday folks like himself did not fully understand yet—and the possibilities of it all is what made it exciting to stay up long past his self-inflicted bedtime, investing interminable hours and about eighty euros worth on caffeinated drinks into his collection of half-baked news articles and black and less black silhouetted photographs. It was exciting to formulate theories and chase after answers—Who are they? What are their intentions? Where did they come from? Do they have something to hide? Is that why they don't come forward to be recognized as the budding celebrities they've become?

Then there were the other questions scooping Adrien's brains up into a mixer bowl. Are all four of these cities connected somehow? Or were these cities just lucky? But the biggest question that Adrien begged an answer for was: Why no other cities, like his very own Paris?

With all these unanswered questions and the mystery shrouding them, Adrien was well at work with his newfound hobby. He was content researching and connecting one thumbtack to another with string; following his web of leads like a detective on a case. It would be more than interesting to know what all the talk meant—and furthermore, if his hunch was right.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, much less how much time and effort he put into this presumption, but he believed with every atom of his being that these "suspicious", "extremely versatile and strong", and otherwise "anonymous" people were superheroes. Maybe not your comic-book-code, wears tighty whities and shoots laser beams out of their eyes kind, but the unassuming type of person who decides to do something more for their beloved city. Either way, it would be comforting to know your home was safeguarded by someone so spectacular.

But the list…He stared at it intently.

The dismissal bell rang, jarring Adrien from his thoughts. He slid his books and papers off his desk (not bothering to sort them) into his open bookbag, zipped it closed, and slung it over his shoulder. His mind lingering still on the bullet points, Adrien failed to see and subsequently move out of his classmate's path.

She and Adrien collided and the unforeseen force sent them both back—her excessively more so. If Adrien's arm hadn't reactively shot out to catch her arm, she'd probably be in a flustered little pile on the ground.

"S-sorry!" she stammered, regaining her balance, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going!" She nervously laughed, hugging her books close to her chest.

"Oh no, Rose, completely my fault. I'm sorry, my head must've been somewhere else." Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed.

"Wow, looks like someone's got two left feet! What a lumbering—"

"Oh can it, Chloe, they both admitted it was a little bit of the both of them," Alya butted in, arms crossed and hip bucked into her no-nonsense stance. She glared at Chloe Bourgeois, egging her to continue her bullying.

Chloe made a noise of snobby superiority and with a flick of her platinum blonde ponytail, she and Sabrina walked out the door.

A moment later, Nino was walking in-step next to Adrien. The hall was mostly deserted—all students and faculty had gone their separate ways after a long day of academia. So the boys pretty much had the hall to themselves.

Nino looked at his best friend. "So where was it?" he asked casually, unwrapping a new canister of blowing bubbles. The packaging plastic made a loud noise that echoed out into the school's courtyard, which the pair passed through now.

Adrien looked confused. His eyebrow dipped in question. "What?"

"Your head. When you bumped into Rose you said your head was somewhere else and during class you definitely weren't all there, man."

"Oh that?" he came up with something believable, "I was just thinking about how hard I have to work for this fencing tournament I have coming up. Mr. D'argencourt is going to push me extra hard these next few weeks." Which wasn't untrue. He did have a tournament on the fast approach. But perhaps it was because Adrien did not have conclusive evidence to prove himself either right or wrong about these "probable vigilantes" that he didn't share his recent uptake in the hobby department. Blowing bubbles was a much more socially acceptable pastime than slaving over a desk in the dead of night with newspaper cutouts and their adjoining photographs (that were questionable at best) covered in vibrant neon sticky notes. Yeah, it's probably best not to say anything yet.

Nino brushed off Adrien's insufficient reply. "If you say so. Hey, you wanna come over to my place and play some video games to get your mind of it?"

Nino's suggestion was a temptation worth giving into and Adrien wanted to accept the offer but…

"If it weren't for a photoshoot my dad scheduled for me today, I'd take you up on that, Nino. Can I take a rain check?" Adrien and Nino stopped at the top of the steps in front of the school.

"Sure thing, man. Catch you later," Nino said just as Adrien's ride pulled to the side of the curb.

Adrien waved goodbye and ran down to his car.

Nino blew bubbles all the way home.

****************************

The photo shoot was nothing special. It was routine—not unfamiliar. A rack of Gabriel Agreste's new line of apparel for the season was at the ready when he arrived. On standby was a team of makeup artists, a team of hairstylists, and an entire crew at the photographer's every beck and call. Blinding lights and stiff props. Words of empty encouragement. A giant fan, for whatever reason.

Three hours of moving around and not moving at all, or smiling and pretending to not notice the camera and it was all over. He collected his things and was ushered out by Natalie to the next activity scrupulously printed into his never-ending schedule. Up next: Dinner with Gabriel.

It would be the first time he would see his father in over two weeks for more than five consecutive minutes. Gabriel would want updates on his studies. Straight A's, Adrien. That was the agreement. He would want to hear about his improvements with Mr. D'argencourt. I want nothing less than the best, son. He would need to hear absolutely no second of his son's time was wasted on trivial things and that all of his time was spent being as perfect as his magazine covers. Any indication of inferiority would be disastrous.

What was worse, his father would need to see proof. That required Adrien to produce tangible evidence and… _oh God! My geography homework! ___

____

____

Adrien froze midstep. He panicked and mentally calculated a way to fix his mistake.

"Adrien?" Natalie paused and turned, surprised when she noticed he was no longer beside her.

Struck with an idea, Adrien knocked his knees together and did a sort of clumsy half-hop. He asked, "Can I use the restroom before we leave? I drank a lot of water on set and I'm not sure I can make the drive home."

Natalie stared a moment as if the process what she was seeing. Typically, she was not privy to Adrien's intimate essentials—essentials yes, they were choreographed personally into his weekly planner—but she could never plan on urgencies such as this.

Collected once more, Natalie checked her wristwatch for the time. She said, "You have three minutes. Hurry along, please."

Adrien attempted a smile but it only manifested as a couple of pristine white teeth sighted in the corner of his mouth. He sidestepped and shirked his way to the nearest company restroom and locked himself in the middle stall.

Three minutes. He could get it done in three minutes…if some miracle rained down from the sky in a miraculous downpour of mercy from the heavens!

Adrien stared at the unfinished assignment on the bag in his lap. He exhaled, "I can't show him this." He closed his eyes, resigning himself to the consequences that would come later.

At least, in here he could allow the dread to consume him in peace.

Suddenly, it was as if the building was split asunder. A terrifying eruption like a thunder crack right on your front step sent Adrien catapulting sideways into the stall wall. Alarm breached Adrien's facial features just as quickly as it reached his heart. And for a moment it was hard to discern how he'd ended up in a compressed tangle between the latrine and stall divider.

An unexpected quell immediately followed the frightening sound, giving rise to the rapid stillness unlike anything he had ever witnessed. His brain stalled. There was a brief moment where his limbs and brain disconnected from each other.

Then, blinking his way into solid comprehension, Adrien picked himself up from the cold tile and slowly brushed himself off. Billows of curious dust had begun to seep underneath the stall door from the outside, moving like waves of dry ice over his toes. The silence in the room spurned a creeping feeling crawling up Adrien's spine.

Whatever happened outside his chosen stall was either gone or waiting for him to join the scene.

Adrien unbolted the lock and pulled. The door swung inward, only making a noise when its edge hit the toilet paper dispenser. Adrien blinked—reaction to the noise—gaping, eyes wide, and hesitantly stepped forward.


	2. Marked

His heart was hammering so loud he could hear it in his ears. And his legs hadn't felt like a tray of shaken jello since his first real modeling gig.

The floor was so dusty and veiled in puffy ash-like refuse that it took a moment for Adrien to read what he was seeing: First, the ground was missing. Well, it wasn't missing—it was all blown to bits in jagged fragments in a vaguely oblong outline. Within it lie chunks of concrete foundation and a bent pipe imbedded in a crater of (now) loose dirt. The second thing he noticed was a block…of wood? It was centered there, in the pit, as if by some sort of symmetry professional.

Adrien glanced sideways, back down to the pit, and did a double take. He gawked at what remained of the restroom wall, mentally unaware that his legs were taking him closer to it.

A proportionally vexing hole ate an enormous bite out of the structural beams and cosmetic plasters. Adrien raised a curious hand to touch a screw sticking point-first out of the drywall, still trying to piece together the situation that had arisen so suddenly. Though now he was more curious than afraid.

The teenager must have tapped the screw too hard for the screw immediately gave way under the pressure and clinked to the floor narrowly missing his toe. Adrien bent to retrieve it.

Just as he was going to stand, Adrien heard a small noise from outside. He looked just beyond the proximal line of trees to see a businessman standing there. And he was not happy to see a giant cavity in the side of his place of employment. No, the man appeared just as shocked as Adrien felt.

Adrien didn't know what to do. So he smiled and waved; and the exposed pipe burst with an audible _PSST _behind him.__

____

____

The businessman dropped his laptop bag and takeout coffee, backing away from the building in horror. Then he was gone.

Adrien dropped his hand. He turned slightly to look back to the bizarre crater and its contents. Standing, Adrien placed the screw on the lowest part of the wall and considered the block of what he thought to be wood.

The strange object seemed to call to him. Not with words, but with a feeling akin to instinct. There was a tug on his conscience. On his insides.

Whatever it was, it was his.

Without forewarning, there was a quick rapping—one two three—on the door to the men's restroom.

"Adrien?" called Natalie from the other side of the door.

Adrien panicked once again. "Coming, Natalie! Just washing my hands!"

Now aware time was not on his side, a last ditch effort was made. He dropped to his knees and plucked the block from the crater. He seized his bookbag and stuffed it and his unfinished homework into it and ran for the door.

*******************************************

Marinette was uncharacteristically quiet. Alya felt she hadn't heard a single word since the final bell rang. Especially since Alya was talking about her super important update about her layout change for her personal blog—a topic that Marinette usually complied with easy banter. And now they were almost to Marinette's front door!

"Are you even listening?" Alya asked a little harsher than intended.

Marinette jumped, dropping her binder full of notes from her arms. "Sorry!" she exclaimed.

Alya rolled her eyes lightheartedly and helped her friend clean up the mess.

"Sorry, Alya. I was just thinking."

"Lemme guess—"

"Adrien seemed a bit off today didn't he?"

"There it is."

"I mean, he looked—not 'preoccupied'—but something like it?"

Alya crossed her arms. She raised an eyebrow, "Alright, subject change it is. Distracted?"

"Yes!" Marinette was struck with euphoria. "That's it!"

Alya smirked, and they crossed the street.

"Wouldn't you agree?" Marinette pressed. He brow was furrowed with concern.

"I guess he did seem like he was focused on something else, but that happens all the time. Do any of us stay focused in class one hundred percent of the time?" Alya opened the door to the bakery, allowing Marinette to enter first.

"Hm. You're right. Maybe I'm over thinking it."

"Maybe!" Alya laughed.

Just inside, Marinette's parents were hard at work tending to customers and decorating fresh pastries to be sold. The girls said a quick hello and Marinette's dad managed to sneak two pastries over to the them before they disappeared upstairs to Marinette's bedroom.

That evening, Alya ended up spending the night—a last minute idea cooked up by Marinette the moment her new video game arrived in the post. They stayed up through the night and well into the morning hours on a dare—whoever fell asleep first would get a silly drawing markered onto them while they slept.

Marinette crashed first. Alya soon followed, gladly.

At twilight, Marinette awoke in a tangle of bed sheets and with her right hand in last night's popcorn bowl. She rubbed her eyes, knowing now that she was awake there was no way she could sleep until noon like she planned.

Marinette stretched silently, pushing off her covers and smiled lovingly at Alya, who was fast asleep on the floor next to her. She stood up and headed to her balcony outside.

The view was stunning. All of Paris was at her fingertips every single morning. The sun rose over the cityscape, brightening the morning like a slow stroke of an artist's brush over a shadowy canvas. The air carried only the sounds of twittering birds singing their song to the new day. The atmosphere was peaceful and welcoming.

Marinette sat in her lawn chair and reclined. Perhaps now, like many other times, her mind would be content enough to drift back to sleep. She folded her hands in her lap, nose turned toward the gentle blue sky. A soft smile panned her cheeks.

It felt like hours had passed when a bird too close for comfort squawked in Marinette's vicinity, scaring her awake and dropping her off the side of her lounging chair.

Marinette looked up and all around for the bird responsible for robbing her of valuable sleep time. Through the frazzled mess that was her hair, she found no culprit.

But there was a box.

Marinette crawled on all fours the couple of feet to the table nearest her chair. She came so close to it she had to stare at the box with two crossed eyes and an upturned lip.

What a funny thing to find. Marinette didn't remember seeing it there earlier this morning; and though her mom was prone to leaving tiny gifts for her occasionally, never before had she left something like this.

It was nearly seamless, at close inspection—and six sided. There were several symbols and an enveloping design carved red into the surface. Marinette raised an eyebrow—the writing seemed familiar. The swooshes and sharp edges of the miniscule script were distinct characteristics of many written Asian languages.

Marinette poked the box.

The box did nothing except move half an inch to the left.

She relaxed and moved to sit with her legs folded. She picked up the box with both hands.

"Maybe mom decided to change things up a little…" Marinette thought aloud.

Then, the lid popped open.

Startled, she jumped; but giggled at herself for being silly. Inside were only earrings!

"Wow," she was mesmerized. She definitely never received anything like this. It did not fit her mom's floral tastes. They were still beautiful, however an outlier. Bright crimson domes with five dots each, the darkest shade of black.

"Like ladybugs." She went to touch one—she had to remember to thank her mom later.

All of a sudden, a bright light swelled to encompass the gift box and an abrupt sound— _FWEEEEE _—caused her to drop the box and fall back out of fear.__

____

____

Then, the red light was gone.

And a _thing _replaced it.__

____

____

Marinette screamed, "Ah! A giant bug! No, it's a mouse! Ah—uh bugmouse!" Marinette's feet slipped on the ground in her clumsy attempt to slide away from the hovering bugmouse. She just couldn't get away fast enough.

"It's okay," the thing flew closer, "Don't be scared!"

"Wuah! Bugmouse talks!" Marinette grabbed the nearest flowerpot and launched it at the creature.

To the girl's horror, the bug thing dodged the trajectory with impeccable ease. The next pot met the same shattered end. So did the next one. And the one after that.

"Listen, Marinette," the voice was small—befitting for the tiny creature, "I know everything might seem a bit strange to you." It flew closer.

Close enough for Marinette to drop her last pot over it to capture it.

Splayed out belly-down on the ground, her grip on the clay pot did not lighten. Marinette took a huge breath.

"Okay, I that makes you feel safer," the small voice was muffled now.

Marinette couldn't help but ask, "What are you? How do you know my name?"

"I'm a kwami and my name is Tikki. Now just let me explain…Wow it's dark in here," the kwami's voice tapered off.

"Mom! Dad! Alya!" The teenager shouted for help, glancing back at the trapdoor to her room.

"No!" Instantaneously, the kwami was flying toward the door, only to pause and fly back to Marinette. The pot was still intact!

She said, "I'm your friend, Marinette. You must trust me. You're the only one who can stop—wait a second." The red thing named Tikki darted from ledge to ledge on her balcony.

Then she popped back right in front of Marinette. "Has anything bizarre or out of the ordinary happened today?"

"U-uh, well, I mean if you count the tiny floating alien talking to me now—"

"No, I mean to Paris. This morning. Have there been any monsters or strange people causing mayhem in the streets?"

"Uh," her eyes flitted about, "Not to my knowledge."

Tikki shook her head, no longer seeming chipper and ready for action, but somber. The kwami opened her large eyes.

"This does not bode well. Marinette," Tikki said, slowly hovering to the castaway box from which she came. She picked it up by the lid—the earrings falling to the bottom of the box—and said, "I think it's time to put these on….and also wash the mustache off your face."


	3. Together

"I don't understand what's happening, Tikki," Marinette said, voice edging unease like the lace trim of her favorite blouse.

"It's easier to explain everything as we go, Marinette." She used the girl's name as a kind of punctuation; as reassurance.

Marinette stepped into her bathroom and washed her face. Then, she carefully put on the earrings.

She blinked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still as vibrant as her mother's and her eyes were still bluer than the gentlest blue jay. She looked down at her hands, quietly talking to Tikki, "I certainly don't…feel any different."

Blinking in affirmation, Tikki instructed, "Now say "Transform me!""

"Okay…Tikki, transform…me?"

It was instant.

"I know, Marinette, just try and stay calm—"

What she asked was an impossible task. The girl's skin ripped open. All over. And as quickly as it had torn, been exposed to air, and bled, it had reformed into something that was not quite skin and not quite cloth, and somehow, a million times stronger. Marinette's back and shoulders sang. Like she'd been pierced through—bones cracked and crunched. At the same time, it felt as if eighty nests of hornets stung her—not just on her shoulder blades, but along her arms, neck, calves, and anywhere that had skin.

Marinette winced. Tears pricked at the corners of her glossy eyes. She fought back some whimpers.

_"Breathe, Marinette—" _Tikki's voice was no longer coming from a separate entity outside her own being. Now, now it came from within.__

____

____

Marinette doubled over, clutching the corners of the sink. She could barely recognize her skin…and the color! The scarlet color! Was it blood? Or was it…her? Oh, she felt dizzy; she couldn't breathe!

_It is only hard the first few times. Let it happen. Stifle your cries! _Tikki must have sensed Alya stirring outside the bathroom door, because Alya had groggily begged for "five more minutes of sleep" from Marinette.__

____

____

"W-what's happening to-to m-me?" Her breathing was forced. Heavy. The tears ran freely. So did the pain.

_It is called The Transformation. Every holder must go through something similar so they have a better understanding of what is at stake. So they don't take the responsibility lightly." ___

____

____

Marinette held herself tightly, forcing her eyes closed. They burned. She felt like…she was hatching.

She was growing. Reforming.

All the girl could do was wait for the pain to subside. Until all that was left were her jagged breaths, and a soft fluttering noise that reverberated in her ears.

_"The pain fades. The worst is over. You can open your eyes. ___

____

____

Marinette did as she was told. She stood slowly, shaking terribly as she found her balance, and looked up. "Ah!"

_Quiet, they'll hear!" ___

____

____

"Tikki, my eyes! They're—they're gone! I can't see!"

_They are not gone, they just look more like—" ___

____

____

"A bug," Marinette recoiled flatly. The small fluttering noise had come from behind her. Shining, shimmering, opalescent wings—two of them—had sprouted out of her back. Marinette turned in the mirror and stroked one of the wings. She gave out a surprised yelp, "I felt that! I felt my hand. It's—they're—they are on my body!"

_They _ _are _ _your body, Marinette. Please, you must stay calm. I will explain everything. _Tikki said, _Your eyes are not gone. They are black, like a ladybug's. Notice you only see in black and white? _________

_____ _

_____ _

Marinette closed on eye; and then the other. She blinked two times, looking around the room. "Yeah. This is weird."

_The suit you wear is part of you. It is both—_

__There was a sudden, but polite knock on the door._ _

____

____

Marinette jumped.

"Mari, are you in there?" It was Sebine, the girl's mother.

"O-oh yes mom! I'm using the bathroom!"

"Is everything okay? You are being awfully loud."

"Y-yes mom, I'm sorry. I'll be right out!"

"Okay." The doubt in Sebine's voice could be felt, but nonetheless, Marinette listened as her footsteps sounded further and further away.

And they went into the bakery downstairs. And were now stepping to the oven. Marinette could hear the pre-heating ticks of the oven dial as clearly as if she were there turning it herself. Impossible! She was two stories up!

"Oh my…" Marinette whispered, in wonderment. This was all too much.

_Are you ready to try out your new powers? _Tikki asked, sounding more excited now than instructive.__

____

____

"Powers?" She looked at her hand. It was covered in this rough, yet flexible material. And it was spotted. Her whole body was like this—even the mask concealing her facial features.

_Of course, _Tikki said. _Look at your hip. _____

_____ _

_____ _

Marinette looked down. A round object sat comfortably at her hip, attatched to a string. She took hold of this object and the object opened in her hand. It responded to her touch as if by magic. As if it was alive. "A yo-yo?"

_The weapon takes a shape that fits the holder, _Tikki's voice explained.__

____

____

"But I don't even own a yo-yo."

_Yes you do. ___

____

____

Marinette gasped in rebuke, "Well now I do, I guess, but that still doesn't make sense, Tikki."

_It will soon. You just have to trust that it will. Trust yourself. And trust me. We're partners now, Marinette, we're a team. And we have a job to do. Do you understand? ___

____

____

Marinette tightened her grip around her yo-yo. "I understand."

_Good. Let's go! ___

____

____

******************************

A couple of days passed and Adrien still had not opened the mysterious box.

He stared at it, definitely. It sat close to him at all times. Either in his bag, positioned just-so; he could spy the corner of it sticking out from under the flap, or on the desk in his ginormous room, staring back at him, tempting him.

It was the weekend now, so Adrien had a little more leeway with his schedule. It was practice this, practice that, and then you may play video games or obsessively compile information on hooded figures taking to the world in the dead of night.

Natalie only checked in with him periodically, so he knew when to hide his stash and exit the tabs on his computer. His bodyguard never left the other side of his door…

Adrien never minded being alone. Ever since he lost his mother, that's all he's ever felt. Alone.

He'd gotten used to it. After all, it wasn't like he had a choice. In the beginning, it wasn't of his design. His father was to blame for his confinement. The loss of Emilie Agreste had been too great a blow to them both—the boy just presumed is father kept him locked away in reaction to his own fear. It was a precaution. So he wouldn't lose again.

After some time it just became routine. It was a habit that Mr. Agreste refused to kick—and at the expense of his son's happiness.

Despite all of this, Adrien never complained. Complaining led to punishment. Punishment wasted his father's time, and time was all too precious a thing in Gabriel's eyes. Adrien knew this. That's why every moment he spent with his father mattered to him so much. Never mind that his interactions with Gabriel were one of the select few he was allowed to have since they lost Emilie.

Adrien sighed. He did not feel up to investigating or gathering intel tonight. He wanted to lie down and do nothing.

The boy arose from his desk chair, disenchanted with the idea of finishing his homework just yet, and plopped face-first onto his bed. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling a moment before checking his phone—it hadn't buzzed all afternoon, so he knew there were no new text messages. Perhaps there were some new sightings?

He browsed the news outlets, scanning links and pages, sifting through what he knew was recycled old news, and even traversed the various conspiracy threads on all the backwoods sites he could think of. It was well past his bed-time when he realized the internet had kept him captive for over three hours. As soon as that realization struck, he passed out from exhaustion.

The next morning, he was awoken by Natalie. She said a curt "good morning" before asking, "Did you fall asleep watching television again, Adrien?"

The boy rubbed his eyes and sheepishly smiled—her answer.

Natalie disapprovingly shook her head. "It really is bad for your eyes to stare at a screen that long. How would you feel if your father—"

"Honestly, I was so tired from school, I just fell asleep after one episode."

"Oh. Very well then. Mind what I said though. Remember you have a photoshoot at three today, and you must get in some piano practice before then."

"Of course, Natalie."

She could sense the disappointment in his voice. She paused as she went for the door, turning her head to look back at the young Agreste. She said, "However, the majority of the morning is yours to do as you please."

Adrien's face immediately split into a grin. "Thank you, Natalie!"

She closed the door behind her.

Adrien leapt out of his bed and dashed for his bathroom to get ready for the day.

_Nino: _Dude, you have to see this. I caught smth on camera last night that ur not going 2 believe! ! ! ! !__

____

____

Five exclamation points? Adrien thought to himself, hastily brushing his teeth, and staring at his phone in his other hand. Must be important.

_Adrien replied: _? ?__

____

____

_He texted again: _I have until 1. Then I have to be back home. Wanna meet at the park by the fountain?__

____

____

A second later, his phone buzzed twice.

_Nino: _Yes! Im leaving now__

____

____

 

Gotta show you asap!

***************************

Only a few minutes later, Adrien's bodyguard dropped him off at the entrance to the park. Nino was sitting, waiting by the fountain in the center, and anticipatedly watched for his friend's arrival.

The moment Adrien hopped out of the car, Nino ran to meet him halfway. "Dude, it's amazing how you found the time to hang out!"

"Yeah, we have Natalie to thank for that," the blond smiled, "What was it you needed to show me? Are you okay?"

"Oh I'm fine!" Nino passed Adrien his phone, "Flip through there." He motioned to the most recent photos in his camera album.

Curious, Adrien took a look at the photos. There were a number of them, and it was clear that each one was shot one right after the other because, together, they showed the quick succession of something flying.

All of the photos were blurry and cast shadow. The waning moon narrowly made it into the corner of the pictures, shining an obscure glow upon the figure that appeared to be flying from one rooftop to the next. Due to the angle of the pictures Nino had taken, it was evident that the figure was high above his much lower standpoint. He couldn't make much else of the photos. To anyone not looking for something, it just looked like a poor photo taken of some shadows with the wrong kind of camera.

Could it be?

"The rooftops are too far away. Nobody can jump that far, not even Olympians. They had to be flying to get across the street like that, right?" Nino said excitedly after a moment where Adrien said nothing.

_Could it be? ___

____

____

"And I was thinking, you know, as I was standing there, that he didn't want to be seen, you know?" Nino went on, "Because right after, I heard this loud noise like it fell into something—maybe a trashcan or something—and then it was back up in the air. When I blinked, he was gone! How wild is that?"

"He?" It was all Adrien could manage. It was more of a thought, just spoken aloud.

"He. She. It. Whatever it was, it defied all logic, man. I just had to show you. Tell me I'm not seeing things."

Adrien kept staring at one photo. The one where the silhouette was the most defined—it was easily humanoid, but it was still too dark to tell for certain. The closer he looked, the blurrier and more unrecognizable the shape became. It was as if he was standing before a famous painting at the Louvre. Far away, the detail was exquisite, but the closer one got, the more the detail was expunged and forgotten in the brush strokes.

Could it be?

Adrien hoped. He hoped with all he had in him. How exhilarating would it be if Paris was the next city to have a superhero! Maybe now he could finally get to the bottom of this mystifying enigma. Once and for all.

**************************

"I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this, Tikki." Marinette clutched her yo-yo proudly. She stood amongst the network of iron beams comprising the Eiffel Tower, much like a spider perched confidently in its web.

_I'm glad you think so, _Tikki said cheerfully.__

____

____

Marinette strung a leg out over one of the sturdier, horizontal beams and sat down. For a few moments, she idly toyed with the yo-yo—rolling it down and back up, down and back up—quietly taking in Paris, as it was, at night.

Even now, her city was teaming with life. The streetlights peppered around the city cast a soft halo of light in an otherwise endless night. Like a forcefield surrounded by darkness and shadow. Motored vehicles zipped along roadways. Couples took late-night walks with their beloved dogs through the park. Boats passed by on the Seine, chugging perfect slices through the reflections of the pale moon on the water's surface. Thousands of families were cozy and safe in their homes. And Marinette stood in the center of all of it.

She still didn't know what to call this—her and Tikki, "together"… Marinette only called it this because she couldn't find a better word for whatever she and Tikki were together. Because, in a very literal sense, Marinette physically combined with Tikki. It was the only way she could be able to utilize the powers Tikki had granted. Tikki explained it that first night they were _together. ___

____

____

Physical and mental fusion…A combination of our best attributes. A corporeal amalgamation…complete with wings!

"Tikki," Marinette sobered up, "You said something was coming. You said something terrible."

_I did. ___

____

____

She abruptly caught her yo-yo and lowered her gaze. She exhaled, "What if, when whatever is coming comes and I freeze? What if I can't do what you want me to do? What if these past few days were just proof that I'm in over my head here?"

Tikki chuckled. _Yes, the first couple of nights were a little rough. But that's to be expected—you're learning! With time things will only get easier. ___

____

____

"With the swinging and jumping and the landing, yeah," the teen recalled herself crashing into a trash can one-too-many-times, "But saving Paris from some unspeakable doom is on a totally different wavelength."

_You might be right, Marinette, _Tikki's voice filled her head,__

_But my arrival is testament to your worthiness of the task at hand. I wouldn't have appeared to you if you were not capable and deserving of this power. You just don't see that yet. ___

__

__Tikki paused a moment, letting her words reach the girl. _Until then, we patrol the city. _____


	4. What Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me way too long to write......#depression
> 
> thnx for your patience; please leave comments!

“Hello, father.”

“Good evening, Adrien.”

The night was still in its youth, but Natalie still moved with a time-pressed fervor, as she slipped before Mr. Agreste a sheet of paper. The paper was a condensed report of Adrien’s life for the past week.

Adrien and Mr. Agreste sat on opposite ends of the large dining table in their banquet room. Mr. Agreste sipped his evening tea, closely inspecting the review Natalie had prepared for him. He gave little-to-no indication that he was neither pleased or displeased with said report.

The young Agreste chewed his seasoned chicken and broccoli, gaze lowered and anticipating his father’s next words.

Natalie glanced toward Adrien. She adjusted the glasses upon her nose.

“A ‘B’?” Gabriel let the question dangle. He was not one for excessive words. For anything superfluous.

Adrien explained, “It was a group project, father. Everyone got an eighty-nine percent.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. His tone was flat, and yet cut through his son like a blade. “I do not wish to hear your excuses, Adrien. When I told you you could go to that school, the arrangement was that you were to give me nothing short of the best. This is not the best.”

“I know, f—”

“I expect next week’s report to have improved. Until then, you are to be confined to your room. You are only permitted to leave for school and your fencing practices.” Gabriel took a long sip from his tea cup. It clinked when he placed it back on its saucer.

“Am I understood?” Mr. Agreste asked after receiving no response.

Adrien sighed quietly, looking down at his plate. “Yes, father.”

“Very good. Now, off to bed. You may finish your dinner in your room.”

Adrien rose from his seat, gathered his dinner plate, and left for his bedroom.

Natalie watched after the boy. As soon as he was out of sight, she stepped forward, “Sir, the rest of his review was spotless. There could not have been any more room for improvement.”

Mr. Agreste tilted his head higher. Ever so slightly. “And, yet, there was,” he said. “That will be all, Natalie.”

“Yes sir,” she bowed her head. Then she let the designer to be alone with his tea. But not without silently hoping it had grown cold.

Upstairs, Adrien lay on his bed. His dinner forlorn on some surface—he couldn’t care which. Hunger was the last thing on his conscience now.

He turned on his side and tucked an arm under his head for support.

His father was so disappointed in him. He would do anything to see the hard lines on his father’s face soften into a smile. No scorn. No disparagement. Just praise. Just love. Just for him. Just once.

_I’ll have to try harder tomorrow, _he thought to himself. Until then, and even for a time after, he was restricted to his room. This process was all too familiar, and an infinite cycle. It didn’t matter that everyone in his group received that grade; nor did it matter that the eighty-nine was their best effort. It wasn’t fit for the famous clothing designer because it was less than perfection. Everything the designer produced was perfect. It had to be.__

____

__

Except his son. _Except me, _he thought.__

____

__

“I couldn’t be in any more trouble.” Adrien rubbed his face as if his hands were sheets of sandpaper, endeavoring to iron out the sadness that plagued him. He sat up and stared out his bedroom window.

Every day Adrien could see practically half of all of Paris … and he couldn’t feel further from it.

“It is in the past. An eighty-nine is still a good grade,” he assured himself. Most times, that was all the consolation he was given. “Isn’t it? Nino was happy with it.”

He did not want to think on it anymore. Adrien stepped over to the large window and leaned upon the cool glass, watching the street below.

As cliché as it was, he wished he was that guy crossing the street to his car. Or that lady walking her dog—either without a care in the world. Those people on the bus. They were outside. They were free to be where and who they wanted.

At least, in comparison to Adrien. And of course, there was always that little voice in the back of his mind telling him to do the things he knew would never gain his father’s short-lived approval. When he was grounded, that voice usually told him to sneak out.

Adrien turned to look at his book bag; ad then again, to the cork board with all of his theories and information tacked upon it.

The tiny voice got louder.

He unlatched the window. The releasing clicks seemed to echo throughout the room, but he was only hyper-aware of the slightest movement. Of the smallest amount of change.

The voice was now beyond quenchable state. The only way to subdue it was to indulge it. But the fresh air smelt fine.

Adrien grabbed his bag and a few supplies, and was gone.

***************************

What are the odds of seeing someone from the newspaper clippings for real? So soon after Nino? Could it be possible? Maybe they saw Nino coming and that’s why they ran away… and now they’ll be on guard. Careful to not be caught on camera again. Of course they didn’t want to be seen—why else would they not have come forward yet?  
It’d be months before he found one; maybe more if he could acquire photographic evidence.

_It’d be just my luck. ___

____

____

There was some crucial information he just hadn’t learned yet. But he would. He figured the best place to start was where Nino claimed to see the person vault over rooftops.

Adrien took great care to stick to the shadows, keeping himself as small as can be whilst also perceptive of the changing street scene around him. The nameless hero would likely be doing the same.

When at last Adrien arrived to the spot where Nino became witness, he was taken by surprise. It was a residential area—ergo plenty of light flooding the roads and pedestrian walkways.

Maybe Nino was just a terrible photographer.

Adrien flipped through the pictures once again—Nino had sent them to him at his request. He exhaled.

Maybe they lived nearby. It could be a “secret identities” situation. By day, a normal everyday life; and by night a crime-fighting nearly-flying… guy person.

Adrien took another look around, trying to give shape to every shadow, and purpose to every subtle noise. But where there was nothing, that is what he would also find: Nothing.

_Ugh. I’m not going to get anywhere if I’m just going around in circles!_ He posed himself a question, _If I was one of them, where would I go? ___

__

_____Maybe someplace high. Or someplace where there is a lot of crime._ _ _ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

Adrien didn’t know where, but he was going, and he was going with a purpose. He walked. Stopped, and watched. He resumed walking.

Every street corner, near every park bench, under any humanoid statues he came across—Adrien left no public stone unturned. He scanned the rooftops, checked balconies, and peered into alleyways. He’d been on the hunt so long he began to grow suspicious even of the passing strangers that were out at the same disreputable hour as he.

It was just after three in the morning when a police car stopped alongside him, where he was teetering over the railing, peering into the Seine.

The squad car’s passenger window rolled down and the officer inside said, “You lost, son?”

Struck with an awful pang of regret, and feeling much like his father was already scorning him, Adrien slowly stepped back from the handrail.

The boy tried to hide how high-pitched his voice felt, “Uh, no sir. I was just admiring the river. It’s so beautiful at night—but I’ll be heading home now. I guess I forgot how late it was.” He anxiously rubbed at the nape of his neck.

The policeman nodded. “Have a good night and stay safe, son.”

“You too.” Adrien turned in the direction of his home.

The car quietly pulled away from the sidewalk. Adrien dared to look back as it turned down another street.

Seeing the coast was clear, he allowed the tension to break off him. He slumped over and shoved both his hands in his front pockets. Adrien was defeated in more ways than one. He couldn’t help but drag his feet on his way back to his house.

******************************

“Do you think that’s him?” Marinette asked. She stood flush against the outside of a Parisian building, her tip-toes barely brushing the railing of someone’s petite balcony. Her old ballet lessons were finally put to some use; yet her wings itched uncomfortably.

She peeked out into the silent street, where a boy about her age was ambling about, searching for something behind bushes, in trashcans, and where ever else he could safely reach.

Tikki’s voice jingled a giggle, like faerie bells ringing in her ears. _No, I doubt the man we are looking for would worry so much about dropping his phone in a trashcan. ___

____

____

“You think he lost his phone?” Marinette blinked down at the boy. In the dark, the world looked the same in black in white.

_What do you think he lost? ___

____

____

“His…cat?” Marinette also giggled, then gasped, as the boy tried to hop over a fence, caught his shoe and tumbled over the other side.

She looked closer, because the boy was now facing her. “It’s Adrien! He’s a boy in my class. He’s so sweet—he’s…I wonder what he’s doing out here so late?”

_I don’t believe he poses any threat— ___

____

____

“I’m just going to follow him to make sure he gets home okay.”

Tikki tried to keep the girl on track, _We are supposed to be protecting Paris— ___

____

____

Ladybug leapt off the balcony and landed with a flourish, still sheathed by heavy shadow. “The people of Paris still count as ‘Paris’, right?” she whispered.

Tikki sighed.

Marinette kept close behind Adrien so she would not lose track of him.

Tikki reminded her to be careful. _You can’t be seen and expose us! ___

____

____

“I still don’t get that rule.” Marinette ducked behind a tree just as Adrien turned to look behind him.

_That was close! ___

____

____

Maybe she should stay a little further back so he won’t discover her following him, you know, like a creepy stalker. How embarrassing!

Marinette shook her yo-yo from her belt and tossed the heavy end over the nearest roof.

Adrien was walking toward the riverfront now; she could hear his hushed footfalls receding.

The girl pulled on the string and it yanked her upwards.

Some time passed by, though it was clear her classmate had not recovered his “cat”. When Marinette sensed a third presence approaching, she went for cover and watched as a squad car stopped Adrien.

_Must be checking on him, _she thought.__

____

____

Tikki nodded—a movement Marinette could feel within her own conscious.

_He’s going home now, _Tikki said as they both saw Adrien leave, _We should get going. Finish our patrol for the night. _____

_____ _

_____ _

“He isn’t home yet,” Marinette said aloud; standing, unraveling her yo-yo.

_He’s going home now, _Tikki said as they both saw Adrien walking away. _We should get going, Marinette. _____

_____ _

_____ _

Despite her stubborn insistence to follow the boy home for his “safety”, he was unknowingly delivered to his…rather large dwelling, and the masked Marinette bid him goodnight.

As the boy climbed through his bedroom window, a hot blush filled her cheeks.

He turned to close and secure the window, seeming to pause for one last look of the night sky.

“Goodnight, Adrien.”

***********************

The next morning came with the sun like a promise. Brilliant rays of warmth and light spread across the floors and walls of the mansion like feathers of a bird taking flight until at last they dusted the blonde eyelashes of the young Agreste.

Waking with a smile, he stretched and reached for the ceiling. When his arms fell back onto his bed, he remembered. And his smile was replaced by a thin foul line. He sighed.

School was out. And he couldn’t exactly sneak out in the day-time. Adrien would be noticed; or worse, recognized. Being an Agreste came with an extremely high profile and as long as the sun was out, the world was not on his side.

He’d risked a lot, leaving in the middle of the night. He would risk a whole lot more if he had the gall to do it now. Even with Natalie and the Gorilla breathing down his neck.

Adrien had already sunk himself to a new low when he heard a strange crackling sound coming from his desk. He shot out of bed when he saw something black leaking through his bag from school.

Suddenly on his knees beside his messenger bag, he dipped a perhaps-too-eager finger into the murky paint-like substance and rubbed it in small circles with his fingers. It was cool to the touch; and sizzled and popped like popping candy, yet had the consistency of a viscous ink or syrup—the likes of which he had never seen. And oh, how it smelled. It was putrid, offensive, and unmistakably organic. It was as if someone blended multiple types of fungi in with a selection of aging roadkill, and the product of said fusion was this black sludge. It was the distinct chemical cocktail of putrefaction.

Apart from how the odor turned his stomach, Adrien could discern no other properties of the fluid. He then turned to his bag, gripping it by the opposing corner and fished around in it. Adrien’s hand stuck to the contents of his school bag, getting progressively more and more coated in a thick layer of the sludge before his hand deposited on the slimy culprit. Sludge gushed between his fingers a he fought to get the mysterious wooden box to cease its incessant oozing.

“Gah,” Adrien gasped, “Why?! Father is going to kill me! What _are _you?”__

____

____

It was then when his room started to rumble and shake. Books began to drop off their shelves.

Still clutching the box, Adrien stood to marvel as books danced for him before they took the plunge—some so violently, that they bounced and hit the glass barrier between him and the wall. It sounded like thunder.

His computer monitor flashed pixelated colors and images too fast for him to recognize. The word “error” appeared in quick succession all over the screen.

Adrien jumped when his television started loudly running through channels—though he was nowhere near the remote. A music station—rude exasperation of drums and cymbals. A kids cartoon. Advertisement for jewelry. Advertisement. His own face on an advertisement. And then it stopped. A news channel.

The commotion in the room came to a halt.

“Authorities are still determining current threat levels, as there are no determined suspects and are considered still at large. Citizens are advised to remain calm. Please dial your local police station if you have any information on the subject.” Behind the straight-faced newswoman, a live recording filmed the Eiffel Tower collapsing in a great gray cloud of dust.

“Now we go to Miss Chamack, live on the scene—” 

Adrien didn’t recall walking to his TV. He couldn’t look away.

“It appears as if it is a calculated attack,” Chamack spoke urgently to the viewers while looking back to the sight unfolding behind her.

First responders, a couple of helicopters, and onlookers alike hounded the site. The top half of the monument now lay on its side, a veil of dust settling around it. A closer look revealed that it had been severed neatly in two. Not a jagged edge in sight.

“How, I have no clue. Witnesses say there was no explosion—just the loud grating of metal mere moments before the crash. We’ll send updates to you as we have them—”

Off-camera, the news reporter’s cameraman exclaimed. She whirled around to see a black shadow take shape in the air above the fallen symbol of France.

It morphed and moved as if it were alive—the camera zoomed in but failed to capture detail—and a great voice boomed over all who were there.

“Beloved people of Paris, I am Hawkmoth. I am the reason behind your leveled trifle—I mean, Eiffel. Your mourning may be short-lived however, as I am willing to restore it to its former glory, if you only turn over what I desire. Worse things lie in your future, much worse than the destruction of a silly metal totem. Paris!” The disembodied voice roared.

Everything otherwise was quiet as death.

“I require nothing short of something _miraculous _to quench my thirst. Take this as your one, and only, warning.” The message was punctuated with a healthy dose of menacing laughter.__

____

____

And then, the swarming mass above the Eiffel Tower dissipated and it was as if it never happened.

All that remained were the red and blue lights flashing atop police cars, and the ashen faces of all who stood witness.

The TV went black. Silent. Off.

Adrien blinked; certain his heart now took residence next to his stomach.

_'Hawkmoth'? ___

____

____

Adrien was dripping goo all over his carpet. The box never stopped leaking, though it was much slower now.

This Hawkmoth was calling someone out, that was perfectly clear.

Was it a challenge? Who was he challenging? And why the use of such a display?

Adrien had an epiphany. “We have a villain. Paris has its very own villain!” He tried not to sound so excited, “And where there is a villain, there’s got to be—”

_*Click* ___


End file.
